


swan song

by vindicatedtruth (orphan_account)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 14:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: "So while I'm feeling strong, I sing you one last song."





	swan song

 

A hushed anticipation falls over the crowd as he steps onto the stage.  The sudden quiet makes the feedback the microphone gives out all the more deafening; he can sense a few people cringing at the sound.  Overhead, the stage lights are burning down his neck, and he squints his eyes momentarily to adjust his vision.

He can’t see the audience from this vantage point.  It doesn’t matter though; there’s only one person he sees at the moment.

He wonders if he’s finding it hard to breathe, too.

The guitar strap feels heavy on his shoulder as he adjusts the settings on the amplifier.  He can feel everyone’s eyes on him.  He can feel everyone waiting for him, wondering what he’ll sing this time.

He can feel everyone waiting for _his_ reaction.

The lights dim, leaving a lone spotlight shining down on him.  The tender notes of the piano begin to play in the background.  There’s no opening banter to engage the audience this time, no welcoming message, no corny jokes.  Not for something like this.

Not when it’s his heart that’s on the line.

He smiles, a little wanly, a little bitterly.  It’s time to face the music.

For both of them.

The piano pauses, and the whole room seems to collectively hold their breath.  He closes his eyes, presses his lips to the microphone, and sings.

“ _Take my hand.  Touch my face._ ”

The strumming of his guitar sounds abnormally loud in the small space, almost cloying in its intimacy.

“ _Let me feel your embrace._ ”

He wants to step down the stage and into his arms—the only sanctuary he knows, the only _home_ he knows.

And now he won’t even have that, anymore.

“ _Let me see in your eyes that you won’t say goodbye._ ”

His eyes flutter open, and even in the darkness, his vision automatically seeks the only light he knows.

Even in the darkness, he can see his silhouette, front and centre, watching him with wide eyes.

“ _Just tell me how you feel._ ”  

Things between them will change, after this, no matter how much they try to fool themselves that it won’t.  

“ _I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore._ ”

He needs to know that they’ll still have each other nevertheless.  He has to hold onto that.

It’s the only thing he has left to hold.

“ _And if you need me, you’d kiss me, then tell me how you feel._ ”

He feels something inside of his chest tighten, pounding in time to the rhythm of the bass line.

“ _And if you want me, you’d show me that your love is for real._ ”

He has never wanted anything in his life the way he wants _him_.  All of him, every part, even those he hides from the rest of the world, the ones he refuses to acknowledge even in himself.  He wants _everything_ about him, and he wants it all to _himself._   He feels lightheaded with voraciousness.

It frightens him.

“ _And if you love me…_ ”

He catches his breath at the tail end of the sustained high falsetto, and feels something more than his voice break.

He thinks it’s one of his heartstrings.

“… _you’d hold me in your arms where I belong._ ”

He remembers pulling him close in his moment of victory, whispering earnestly and tenderly that he loves him, because his true prize was in his arms at that moment.

He smiles at the memory, painful and sweet.

“ _So while I’m feeling strong…_ ”

He seeks him now, as he always does, the way a drowning man needs air, the way a soul needs a purpose, the way a body needs its lifeblood.

He holds his gaze and keeps it, wishing he can do to same to his heart.

“ _… I sing you one last song._ ”

He hears the rhythm of the guitars and the slow beat of the drums as the rest of the band play around him, wordlessly surrounding him in solidarity.  He takes a deep breath and draws his strength from the music—and from them.

“ _Let me ask, time has passed._ ”

They’ve only known each other for a short while—for the entirety of this life-changing journey they have found themselves taking together, against all of their initial plans—and yet it feels like they’ve been together all their lives.  They’ve gone from being strangers from different states whose only similarity is their first name and their love of music, to suddenly sharing _everything_ together—auditions, rehearsals, performances, photoshoots, tapings, interviews, press appearances—to practically living in each other’s pockets in being together every waking moment on tour, and _then_ flying all the away across the word to have their first international concert _together._

“ _Do you feel this could last?_ ”

Somewhere deep inside him, he has always known it’s all too good to be true—all too good to last.  He understands the boy’s struggle better than most; all the hushed late night confessions and muted sobs in their bunk beds on the tour bus, or behind the locked doors of their backstage dressing rooms as they seek a momentary sanctuary of peace in each other’s arms before they slip on the mask of the performer in front of thousands; he knows, better than most, all of the boy’s lingering doubts about his bigoted religion, his parents’ failing marriage, his place in the soul-sucking entertainment industry, and his overall purpose in life; the boy knows, more deeply the most, just how low he had sunk when he lost his brother, and how he had been the life buoy he had clung to when all he wanted was to drown, because if his brother didn’t live, then he didn’t deserve to, either.

“ _If you don’t, why then stay?_ ”

He knows that if the boy keeps going on the path they are on, it’ll end up destroying him—and everything he has ever loved about him.

“ _Take your wings, fly away._ ”

He knows that the boy’s decision is the healthiest for him.  He needs to preserve what little piece of himself he has left.

“ _I love you way too much…_ ”

The boy saved his _life_.  He should only want what’s best for him.  He should want to _save_ him too.

“ _… to wanna be the one who brings you down._ ”

So why does it feel like saving him has to come with the price of killing his own heart?

“ _And if you need me, you’d kiss me, then tell me how you feel._ ”

There had been times—too many tempestuous times—when he felt like the boy’s need of him matched his own; when the boy would cling to him, breathing harshly against his neck in a desperate attempt to quell his panic attacks, and he would wrap his arms around the boy’s smaller frame, murmuring comfort and safety in his hair, and he’d silently vow right then and there that anyone would have to go through his dead body before he’d ever let the world hurt this precious boy again.

“ _And if you want me, you’d show me that your love is for real._ ”

Then there had been times—too many helpless times—when the boy would look at him like he was _his_ whole world, like he was the source of salvation and benediction all in one, like he was the altar and the boy was prostrate in worship, and he’d have to look away and pretend that he was singing to the rest of the world, unwilling to acknowledge or admit just yet that the source of inspiration for all of his seemingly heartfelt songs had come from the love he held in his arms every night and woke up to each morning.

How can he ever— _ever—_ let that go?

“ _And if you love me…”_

There had been times when he was almost— _almost—_ certain that this overwhelming…  _feeling_ he has for this boy is something that’s… _mutual._ He’d be hard pressed to call it love, or even desire; is love or desire enough to describe what is _essential_?  Is it enough to describe what comes to him as naturally as breathing, as _necessary_ as the blood pumping in his veins?

“ _… you’d hold me in your arms where I belong_.”

There had been times when he could almost— _almost_ —pretend that the boy felt the same.

“ _So while I’m feeling strong…_ ”

Except… the boy has never said it.

Not once.

“… _I sing you one last song_.”

He steps back from the microphone and turns away from the audience as he slides his fingers firmly over the guitar frets, tightly enough to almost make them bleed, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the ache building inside him.  His sweaty bangs cover the way his eyes are glistening, and his sweat-drenched shirt clings like second skin to his chest, like a straitjacket he can’t escape, making him feel claustrophobic and trapped.

When he next sings the bridge, the notes escaping his throat feel like a plea being wrenched from his heart.

“ _One last song, I sing for you, like I always do._ ” 

He remembers the lyrics he’s been building on a song he isn’t sure he’ll ever sing: ‘ _There was a time that you could tell the world that you knew I would fight for you, but now I know that I can let you go, because I wrote the last song I’ll write for you_.’

A bittersweet smile creeps over his lips.  He might as well sing it now.

“ _This time, it’s for real._ ”

It all comes crashing down to him at that moment: the reality of what they have, and what they’re _losing_.

He’s never going to have this again.  With _anyone._

“ _I never come to you like this, expecting you to turn my kiss.”_

There had been times—too many goddamn times—when he almost, _almost_ gave in.  When he wanted to know what it’s like to have the boy melting against his arms, flesh to flesh and skin to skin, sliding against each other, slick and sweet, teaching him the many ways a body can vibrate and sing with pleasure, with _want_ , and have all that desire directed at _him_.

 _So you would know_ _what it’s like_ , he thinks harshly, desperately, _to_ ** _need_** _someone like this._

 _“And if you need me, you’d kiss me, then tell me how you feel.  And if you want me, you’d show me that your love is for real.  And if you love me…_ ”

He nearly trips over the words on his tongue as he falters and stares at the suddenly empty seat in front of him.  His intended audience of one has disappeared.

“ _You’d hold me in your arms where I belong_.”

He senses movement from his peripheral vision.  His gaze whips over to the side of the stage… and his eyes widen when he sees someone slowly, shakily ascend the stairs.

His breath catches on a sharp inhale.

“ _So while I’m feeling strong…_ ”

The rest of the band sees him too, and the way their instruments fade into silence is less about the end of the song, and more from shocked, tense anticipation.

“ _… I sing you one last song.”_

It’s like a movie reel on pause, a moment frozen in time as everything else fades away, except for the two of them.  It’s almost poetic, this coming full circle, because this is how they have begun: sharing the same stage, standing under the same spotlight.

He wonders if this is how they will end, too.

“David,” he breathes, every exhale wrapped with reverence.

The boy smiles—and that, _that_ is the smile he would have conquered and crossed the whole world for.

“David,” the boy returns, just as softly.

He steps forward, feeling like the floor is crumbling beneath him.  This is their fork in the road.  There are only two ways this can go.

There are only two things the boy can tell him, now.

_I love you._

_Goodbye._

He swallows, throat thick with emotion.  He doesn’t know which one it will be.

The boy looks up at him, his face as serene as an angel.  _He’s at peace with this,_ he realises with a pang in his heart.  _But what exactly… is this?_

The boy reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers gently over the back of his hand.

_Take my hand._

The boy reaches out and caresses the back of his own hand across his stubbled cheek.

_Touch my face._

And then the boy takes a deep breath… and wraps his arms around him tenderly.

_Let me feel your embrace._

He feels choked, gasping for air, and he returns the embrace tightly, crumpling the boy’s shirt as it bunches in his fists.

The boy turns his head to mouth against his ear… and whispers.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can listen to the beautiful song by A1 [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LigdI-Kg-k).


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